If there is one thing that should be clear by now, the crew here at DNFTB are all extremely, deeply religious. In our own very special and personal ways. We have a faith that is rooted firmly in the sarcasm organs of our souls. So deeply personal are our convictions that they never show up in this episode. Millions of people believing in the Old Voyeur In The Sky doesn’t stop us from exploring the good, old fashioned gambling, incest, rape, (possibly) the first instance of victim blaming and unfortunate comparisons.
Prepare your souls, the righteous DNFTB fires have come to cleanse you minions!
Jidenna walks into conference room for a meeting with Mary, the video creative director.
Mary: Hi, Nice suit.
Jidenna: Thank you.
Mary: It looks familiar. It’s the one you wore to the BET awards isn’t it?
Jidenna: What? No. I threw that away. I wouldn’t wear a suit twice. Goodness me.
Mary: Wait, you’re trying to tell me you don’t ever ever repeat a suit?
Jidenna: Well…there’s the one I wear to funerals.
Mary: Really? That’s the one you don’t replace?
Jidenna: I mean…the people there are either dead or grieving. And it has to be black like everybody elses. They won’t be able to appreciate it.
Mary: I…You know what, let’s get down to business. We need to discuss the idea for Janelle’s Yoga video.
Jidenna: What have you got for me?
Mary: I was thinking we’re going full on with this yoga theme. You’ll be a yoga instructor and…
Jidenna: Wait, what do Yoga instructors wear?
Mary: T-shirts and yoga shorts or…
Jidenna: T shirts and Yoga Shorts? Is that like an ironic name for some kind of spring line-up? Sounds like something Canali or Tom Ford would do. “With the ‘T-shirts and Yoga shorts’ suits, feel lax but look immaculate”.
Mary: No just plain old t-shirts and yoga shorts. I’m sorry Jidenna…are you choking?
Jidenna: … Shorts?
Mary: Maybe not shorts, sweatpants maybe?
Jidenna: Good God…
Mary: Look Jidenna, the theme is yoga…
Jidenna: I will not do this! I reject this madness.
Mary: A track suit then
Jidenna: Just because it has suit in the title does not make it a suit!
Mary: Fine…fine. Maybe we can play around with it. A suit made out of that sweatpants material.
Jidenna: You’re trying to kill me.
Mary: Excuse me?
Jidenna: You were sent from Nigeria weren’t you? I should have known. They wouldn’t let a light skin get away this easily .
Mary: I don’t know what you’re talking about
Jidenna: Terrible fashion as a weapon. I never saw it coming. The cruelty. The inhumanity
Mary: Oh for the love of…ok, what do you suggest?
Jidenna: I’ll wear a suit…
Jidenna: But I’ll be in a diner.
Mary: I…what? What the hell does that have to do with Yoga?
Jidenna: A diner!
Jidenna: Look from what I’ve heard here all you really need me to do is drop some class. Get down and dirty as it were. I’ll lower myself and actually enter a diner. Sit down even. That’s the most I’m willing to compromise.
Mary: oh my God!
Jidenna: I know. It’s brilliant.
Mary: sighs Fine. I can’t sway you. But there is one other thing.
Mary: The classic man remix video. Some people…*cough* some people seem to think you’re a bit stuck up.
Jidenna: Really? Why would they say that.
Mary: I …erm, have no idea. But it’s out there and we have to deal with it. We thought for the video you could do something to change opinions maybe?
Jidenna: I have the perfect idea.
Mary: You do?
Jidenna: I’ll be in this sleek white suit right….
Jidenna: Then, this is the part…I’ll go into a convenience store.
Jidenna: You know, a convenience store. An actual one. Selling…things. Junk food or whatever is in those places. Then I get an ornate type box thing and walk out.
Jidenna: That’s it.
Mary: What’s the point.
Jidenna: I buy things in convenience stores…like a normal person. I’m just like everyone else. Between the diner and the convenience store – I’m a man of the people Mary. A Classic man of the people.
“What did you just say?”
“What you said just now.”
“I said ‘you stupid laptop…’”
“No after that!”
“I asked ‘what?’”
“No, before that and after that other thing. In the middle”
“I…I don’t think I said anything in the middle. Empty spot right there. It was kind of a doughnut of a sentence really.”
“You said, ‘Oh, for Satan’s sake’”
“Yeah, I heard you!”
“I really doubt it. I think I’d remember saying something like that. I probably said oh for SANTA’s sake, that makes more sense.”
“It really doesn’t.”
“No, like you have to make Santa feel good. You invoke his name, play on his pride, that’s just how you get presents. Everybody knows that.”
“No, they don’t actually.”
“This is why you don’t get presents at Christmas”
“Are you secretly a Satanist.”
“A satanist! A devil worshipper.”
“A…What? That accusation is ridiculous, absurd, insane, offensive -”
“You always string on adjectives when you’re lying.”
“Ok fine but it’s not what you think.”
“Kevin, I just discovered you’re an undercover satanist…it would be an incredible feat if I actually had premade thoughts on the matter.”
“I’m going to explain myself anyway.”
Listen. This is for all you people judging me right now. I’m not exactly a Satanist. I’m a token Satanist. You know those religious people who are only religious when it’s suitable to what they want to do or when they’re in trouble? Yeah, it’s like that. And I figure as long as you’re going to half ass a religion, you might as well pick one with advantages. Amirite? Somehow I doubt you’re cheering me on. But that’ll change.
Let me give you a quick lesson in Satanism (that you probably don’t want but are too curious to ignore). While some groups of people have something like say… the 10 commandments, we have the 11 Satanic rules. It’s our backbone, more or less. What are these rules?
Rule one: Do not give opinions or advice unless you are asked.
Right? How many times have you said this? I’m willing to bet it’s at least every damn week. You know why? Because you my friend are a Satanist at heart and you should embrace it. But I don’t expect you to rush into it. I know you’re still unconvinced. So…
Rule Two: Do not tell your troubles to others unless you are sure they want to hear them.
That hit a spot didn’t it? You want to tell half the people in your contacts this, don’t you? We Satanist get you. We’re really not as bad as you think. Two rules in and it’s like we read your mind (We didn’t…not really anyway).
Rule Three: When in another’s lair, show them respect or else do not go there.
You want to cheer but you won’t because you’re a good [insert appropriate religious affiliation here] but it’s really just common sense. Yeah, we’ll use words like Lair here and there but that’s just tradition. It’s nothing to think about. Our rules just make sense and it’s undeniable.
Now, you’re thinking, what’s the catch?
I won’t lie to you, there is one. We’re not hippies. We’re Satanist. That’s to say we actually do have a dark side. We have rules like:
Rule Four: If a guest in your lair annoys you, treat them cruelly and without mercy.
But think about it. It makes sense doesn’t it? You come to my house and annoy me and then EXPECT mercy? Come on. Not cool. You deserve what happens next. Respect. The. Lair. It’s not much to ask.
However, if you’re hedging because of that, remember:
Rule Five: Do not make sexual advances unless you are given the mating signal
Boom! You see that? Satanists for consent. No means no. Even we Satanists know that. It’s right there in our main rules.
Rule Six: Do not take that which does not belong to you, unless it is a burden to the other person and they cry out to be relieved.
Thy shall not steal unless that stealing will help the other person. Only steal your neighbours burdens. You see? We’re really nice once you get to know us.
Rule Seven: Acknowledge the power of magic if you have employed it successfully to obtain your desires. If you deny the power of magic after having called upon it with success, you will lose all you have obtained.
I mean, what kind of ass denies magic after using it to succeed at life? Who? Magic has feelings. Don’t be a dick. But, If magic screws you over then feel free to detest it and it’s users. (See Mr. Filch in Harry Potter).
Rule Eight: Do not complain about anything to which you need not subject yourself.
Are you getting convinced? I mean, he’s no saint but Motivational Speaker Lucifer knows what’s up. He get’s to the hard hitting issues with that bite of reality.
Rule Nine: Do not harm little children.
Yeah. You hear that you folks who don’t spare the rod? Hey kids. Convert your slipper wielding parents to Satanism. We don’t tolerate that crap.
Rule Ten: Do not kill non-human animals unless you are attacked or for your food.
Satanists against poaching.
Rule Eleven: When walking in open territory, bother no one. If someone bothers you, ask him to stop. If he does not stop, destroy him.
Satanists against street harassment.
I hope I have educated you on our ways and convinced you to join our ranks. We’re really nice. And we throw the best parties. No, really. You have no idea. You haven’t been to a party until you wake up and you’re not sure if that’s a hangover or you’re just possessed.
PS: The information and views set out in this publication are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the values of Do Not Feed The Bloggers.
This disclaimer exists largely because the Church of Satan has asked to be distanced from DNFTB as we are in their words “decadent, valueless and lacking even a shred of conscience.” They have requested we inform you that though their member has written for us, you should not assume that we have corrupted him to our lost ways. The Church of Satan is after all, a decent organization of fine standing, very unlike DNTFB. If you are a follower of the filth that is DNTFB, The Church of Satan would like you to know that they are willing to save your lost soul. All you need do is sign it away to the devil for safe keeping.
You hoped we were dead! Gone with the wind! Away on a magic carpet ride to oblivion! But you were wrong!
We were just plotting and biding our time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to release this auditory orgasm in your unworthy ears!
Listen to the first episode of the DNFTB podcast as Kevin the Penguin Master, resident advice columnist Auntie Liv and all-around perv Aggrey reminisce about the struggle of dial-up porn consumption and reveal exactly where to find our various porn stashes. And to top it off, we also solve the age old mystery of the Share button on streaming sites.
Abandon decency all ye who enter here!
Do not look at me as a prophet of doom for the words I’m about to say. Rather, I reveal the deep truths that we refuse to admit even to ourselves.
SCIENCE HAS FAILED US! How you might ask? Simple. We don’t have robot sex dolls.
I would be more than justified in using this space to bemoan the pathetic state of our sciences and our scholars and our technology, but I’m just not that kind of guy. I’m the kind of guy who thinks beyond his present circumstances and tries to solve the problems that he’s presented with. And there’s only one obvious solution to this dire situation: Necrophilia.
It really is the perfect blend of human contact without the inconvenience of human interaction. Our techniques of human preservation mean that bodies can be maintained in pristine condition after death for a long time. And all it’ll take to get corpses flexible again after rigor mortis is a few strategically placed metal joints. And if you think that is impossible, think of the artificial joints surgeries all over the world that replace knees, elbows and hips. It’s only a small step to doing the same to the dead. It’ll actually be cheaper since you don’t have to worry about anaesthesia and quality of (after)life.
And for all those with petty moral concerns, GET OVER YOURSELVES! You want to deny hundreds of people the joys of having a human sex partner with no demands of their own! What kind of monsters are you!? Yes the partners might be dead, but that’s better than the nothing that those people currently have. It’s not like these corpses will be diverted from some critical function. In fact, we’d actually be using them to bring even more happiness to the world. And I’m sure that if it’s one thing our loved ones would like to know they brought to this world even after their passing, it’s happiness.
Don’t bury or cremate your loved ones. Instead, donate their body to that sexless friend or frustrated who you know could use some good lovin’. In the immortal words of Michael Jackson, you’ll be doing your part to heal the world, to make it a better place for you and for me and the entire human race.
Last you heard from me I was on a mission. I was going to prove that bloggers are writers, perhaps even journalists, by getting involved in witchcraft (that sounded saner in in my head).
Here’s how that went.
To start with I needed to consider two things. What I was going to ask the witchdoctor for, it had to be testable and cheap (because there’s a fine line between a fun experiment and getting ripped off) and who was going to be the victim.
The “what” turned out to be easy. There’s one thing every single witchdoctor in the country claims they can do which by definition means it’ll have to be cheap. Love potions. The problem with that choice is that the “who am I going to use it on” part becomes tricky. If it actually works then things can get ridiculously problematic. And besides, how do you even test it? The reason I assume the cons think it’s a good bet is because it’s so hard to know. If you see no effect they can simply say the person is faking, people do that. And if you think the person is under a spell it probably gives you more confidence and you do all the work yourself and tada! Love potions work.
So if this was going to work the “who” could only be one person, me. That would make the whole thing easily testable. I know who I do and don’t like and I’m quite sure I’d notice if that suddenly changed after the potion. As for being problematic, well…I could take steps to minimize that beforehand.
Here’s the gist of the story I came up with: My uncle is a rich man and he’s picked a wife for me as a favour for one of his cronies. If I do it, then I’m guaranteed a good share of his inheritance but on the flip side I feel nothing for this woman. If I have to spend the rest of my life with her and not get caught cheating, which would void the part where I get rich, then I need some help. Now do your magic. Good plan, covers everything that needs to be covered (and in hindsight is needlessly complicated. I could have just said I’m marrying rich woman, much more plausible. Oops.)
As for who I was supposed to be falling in love with I considered someone I despise just for maximum effect but that’s a terrible idea. If it worked I’d be stuck with feelings for someone I hate. Not that I thought it’d work but hey, no need for needless risks right – besides potentially putting myself at the mercy of dark magic that is.
This part of the story will get a little vague. I’m skimping on details because I realize (with the way things unfolded) just how easy I would be to find if they read this post and for reasons I’ll make clear later I don’t want to be the guy who gave up the name and location of this particular witchdoctor. I’ll say this. I drove to prestige plaza and took something of a long walk to get to the meeting spot, which was an apartment complex. If you can work that out good on you Sherlock Holmes.
The witchdoctor’s lair was not really what I expected. It was a nice apartment. No skulls. No animal hides. No rows of potions. Nothing witchy. There was even a laptop somewhere. The witchdoctor was disappointing too. No skinny old crone. She was maybe 50 and approaching obesity and looked a lot more like a kind school teacher than a witch. But she did have that “Mombasa Swahili” thing going so that was something.
Her son was waiting in the next room. This is significant because he looks like he was put together using parts from rugby players and MMA fighters who were killed in their prime. He is a monster. Which is why I started off by saying a good friend of mine recommended her and escorted me to the gate. Best if she thought people knew where I was and who she was. Wouldn’t want Frankenstein of the gym in the other room to snap my neck or leave with a vial of poison. Yes, I do occasionally consider the potential consequences of my foolishness.
Cutting to the chase, I told her my story, she gave me my instructions and…I did it. On the fateful day I, against every sense in my body, woke up at 3 AM. I spun an egg in a bowl for 3 minutes without breaking it, all the while picturing the girl, and then chucked it over the fence (If you’ve ever found a random broken egg where you live then your neighbour is probably practicing witchcraft). Later on, about an hour before meeting her I took the potion which, disappointingly, was actually a bitter powder. Then I set off to meet her without spending more than 5 minutes in the presence of any other woman.
Digression here, if you’re wondering how I chose the girl it wasn’t easy. After hours of trying to figure the perfect combination I gave up and decided to go simple. I settled on only one trait. For obvious reasons, she must not under any circumstances be a reader or even a potential reader of this blog. It wasn’t that hard finding someone who’s sworn off this blog for life (thanks Aggrey).
How did it go? It didn’t work. Now that’s not to say it didn’t do anything…it just didn’t do what it was supposed to. What it did was make me spend about three hours with the most thought numbing erection of all time. You know how they say men think with their dicks. It isn’t true. Trust me, you’ll know when it becomes true. I have said some stupid things in my life but that day holds a personal record. Probably the entire top 10 really. And she was around the whole time because i lacked the wits to gracefully excuse myself. No, I’m not going to tell you anything i said it was mortifying enough with an audience of one. With all that said, I’m not in love with her(unless you define that as a short burst of barely contained lust) so…thumbs down for witchcraft.
I’m probably supposed to have some deep insight after this. Some kind of lesson or something. All i’ve got is…If you must go to a witchdoctor for heaven’s sake don’t bewitch yourself. I get the feeling that you already knew that though. Also, definitely try this at home (I figure if you’re willing to take advice from me theres no use telling you not to. I’d be wasting potential for a good story for everyone you know).
Happy new year readers. The madness has just begun.
As a red-blooded, heterosexual, misogynist male, I have been busy scoping out chicks’ asses, hips, waists and breasts. It’s not because I want to mind you. It’s because society expects me to. I’m just a victim of my conditioning. I can’t help it.
With the disclaimer out of the way, I have been noticing a lot of parasite-bearing ladies happily flaunting their distended bellies everywhere. It’s seems that spawning time is almost upon us and a new crop of leeches will be loosed on humanity i.e. lots of heavily pregnant women be waddling around.
Now, while I lament their misplaced joy at bringing new life in the world, I have been noticing that my troublesome 2nd brain twitches when the women are in sight going, “You know you wouldn’t mind gutting that fish.” And I go “Dammit penis! I don’t need a new perversion to add to my CV!”
But it has a point. I’m more than a bit curious at stabbing the cat of a heavily pregnant, about-to-break-their-water kind of woman. First of all, the mechanics alone would be worth it. Missionary suddenly becomes a maneuver on par with handling nuclear material. If I jackhammer with abandon like a horny rabbit, is there a real chance of inducing a premature birth?
And if the baby can hear all the soothing sounds of classical music while in the womb, will it also be privy to the sounds of it’s mother bumping uglies? Science, I NEED TO KNOW!
Can I punch a baby if I fist the mother hard enough? Will I feel the soft head cave-in as I tickle the lady’s g-spot? How far would my arm have to travel to accomplish that? And would it heighten her pleasure? (See, ladies! With me, it’s all about you! 😉 )
How about 69’ing? Can the body even contort and stretch over that huge hump to get to the gash? Or is that simply a pipe dream at that stage of gestation?
I don’t know if it’s just sexual curiosity that’s the cause of my new found re-evaluation of the baby ejectors, or my maturity as a person (hehehe) that has allowed me to take notice of their attractiveness. But this is a venture that has to be explored at some point in time. Something else to add to the bucket list, along with setting fire to dog’s balls and wearing a suit of bees.